Tangled in the Web: The Lightning Thief
by ResidentOfCabin6
Summary: Percy Jackson is dirt poor, and has been for years. His best friend, Grover Underwood, is crippled, and bullied constantly. States away lives Annabeth Chase, a gaming prodigy that hates her family. They all have one thing in common, a love of gaming. When the three meet on the elite game Demigods, what will happen when they try to tackle the toughest youth game out there? AU


**PLEASE READ BOTTOM AUTHOR'S NOTE!**

"Are you sure Perce?" Grover asked nervously, "They say it's pretty hard."

I sighed, I was tired of having this discussion with Grover, either we were going to do it, or we weren't, "I know, but it's, like, the ultimate test of a gamer. We're ready bro, and besides, they say there are some avatar choices that are easier to play with if you're nervous."

"I- I guess we can give it a shot," Grover responded after a moment's hesitation, causing me to fist pump in celebration.

"Come on, let's go!" I jumped off of the curb I was balancing on, and took off running across the square. Grover followed.

The various venders selling expansion packs and other gaming gear called out as I ran past, some glaring at me when I knocked something off of their booth. I didn't bother stopping, but I could hear a series of 'excuse me's and 'sorry's coming from Grover, who was falling more and more behind me. The cobbled walkways beat away beneath my feet as I ran past quaint little buildings and multicolored fountains. The smell of flowers, enhanced, of course, from around the square wafted through the air. I finally reached the alley I was attempting to get to, and turned to watch Grover pick his way across the square. Unfortunately, the graphics are made to make the square look smaller than it is.

While I waited for him to make his way over, I glanced at the alley name. _E12+_. It's the right one. A moment later Grover finally arrived.

"Not cool, man," he panted, "Not cool."

I sighed. Its great he can run on here, but he's still really slow. I hope the avatar he picks makes up for his lack of speed.

"Alright," I responded boredly. This happens a lot. We walked slowly down the alley, looking at the sign above the door of each house. We passed dozens of small Victorian style houses, evidence of how much the Web has grown over the years, as we searched for the one we were looking for. Finally we found the right one.

It was a small blue house, and the sign above the door was written in a curly script. _Demigods_. I rung the doorbell. It was a few moments before the door opened, as the software had to scan to make sure I was either twelve, or had special permission to play. Eventually, the door opened. I stared at the swirling blue portal for a moment, then jumped in.

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

The sensation gets me every time. It's like you're being submerged into ice cold water, yet somehow you're still dry. It lasts a few seconds, then it's gone. Everything around you remains blackness while the game loads, then you have to blink a few times when all of the colors and graphics flash into existence.

Unlike most games, which toss you right in, this one starts with a character selection screen. I'm standing in a plain white room, and standing in front of three character models, with a floating label above each one. One was some female creature, which I didn't even bother to consider. That left me with two choices. The first one said _Satyr_. It had these weird, shaggy goat legs and teeny horns curling off of the top of it's head. The next one said _Demigod_ , and looked completely normal. You can guess which one I picked.

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

After another loading period, I flashed into existence again. This time, I was someplace all too familiar to me. I recognized every last detail, from the faded and worn light blue couch to the dingy little light in the corner. There was a difference, though, between this house and mine in the real world. There were four guys sitting around a table playing poker. There was the doorman from the Strand-what was his name? Eddie?-and three other guys I didn't recognize. I looked at the fattest one, whom had three hairs on his head, all combed over his scalp, and the beer cans all over the floor obviously were stemming from him. The room didn't smell like candy, rather, it smelled like moldy pizza, alcohol and the gym locker room crammed together into one space. Text started to scroll across my vision, and I closed my eyes to read it better.

After a moment I managed to decipher it to say that the man I was just looking at was my stepfather, Gabe Ugliano. My mother married him, and he provides the house with money. Great, even virtual me is richer than real me. He's hot tempered, and we have a guy secret where he punches my lights out if I don't obey him. Great. Apparently, I just got back from some fancy boarding school. And ditched Grover on the bus. I'm such a great friend.

Once the text finished scrolling across my vision, the programs were initiated, and Gabe turned to look at me with a joyless smile on his face, "You got any cash?"

Normally, the answer would be no, of course not, and everybody knew that. But this was a virtual reality program, so who knew. I reached my hand into the pocket of my jeans. Do I have money? Yes.

"No."

He raised an eyebrow, "You took a taxi from the bus station, probably paid with a twenty. Got six, seven bucks in change. Somebody expects to live under this roof, he ought to carry his own weight. Am I right, Eddie?"

He stared anywhere except for at me and Gabe. I could see a twinge of sympathy hovering at the edge of his programmed mind. "Come on, Gabe," he finally said, "The kid just got here."

"Am I _right_?" 'my step dad' repeated.

Eddie scowled into his bowl while the other two men attending the poker party proceeded to pass gas in harmony.

"Fine," I said. It was in my grasp, and now it was in his. Of course poor wittle Percy Jackson can't keep a dollar for more than a minute. I yanked my hand from my pocket, and threw it on the table in front of him, "I hope you lose."

"Your report card came, brain boy!" The smelly man yelled after me, "I wouldn't act so snooty!"

I stalked into my room, slamming the door behind me. Though I can't really call it my room, it looked more like Smelly Gabe's stomping grounds, as most of my stuff was tucked carelessly into the closet and old muddy boots were sitting on my windowsill. The entire room reeked of cheap cologne, stale beer and cigars. Yeuch.

I plopped on the bed. Home sweet home.

I thought for a moment. For the five, ten minutes I was in the game, nothing much had happened. I hope the game isn't all hype. I really didn't want to rejoin the computer entities in the other room, I could imagine how that would end, so I just lay on the bed for awhile, trying my hardest to pretend this was my life. Why think about what only gets you down, right?

And yet, my thoughts kept wandering back. Would my life be different if my mom had married someone? Even if it was someone like Smelly Ugly out there? I sighed. Trivial wondering couldn't do much for me. She hadn't, and that was that.

Peaking of my mom, I heard her voice call, "Percy?"

She walked into the bedroom, and immediately I felt better, even if it was just a computer simulation. My mom can do that to you. Her eyes were bright and sparkled in the light, changing from color to color.

"Oh Percy," she hugged me tight, "You've grown since Christmas!"

She smiled, which could melt even the toughest of hearts, and I sent one halfheartedly back at her. Not seeing her since Christmas? I don't think I could live with that. Her long brown hair, which had a few gray streaks, hung down her back. She was wearing her patriotically colored Sweet on America uniform that she wears in the Strand, and they even managed to simulate the chocolate, licorice and other candy smells that always stick to it from the small candy shop in Grand Central Station. Overall, she looked healthier than I've seen her in a long time. Not quite as thin, her eyes sparkling more than usual.

If only they programmed the free samples she brings home for special occasions.

We sat and talked in peace for awhile, but then Gabe had to ruin it, "Hey, Sally-how about some bean dip, huh?"

I gritted my teeth. Even if it was all Web simulation, I still didn't like hearing people talk to her like that. She was the nicest person in the world, with the most tragic backstory. She deserves to be married to some millionaire, not a jerk like this program.

She ignored him completely, and we continued talking, until she finally said, "I have a surprise for you," she said, "We're going to the beach."

Montauk? A little part of me asked, but I smashed the hope. We hadn't been in years, not since the GBD ruined the bakery she was working at. She'd been working there for as long as I can remember and had almost had enough money saved up to finish her high school education, which she'd stopped to care for her uncle that was dying of cancer, and move on to a creative writing program in college. The protesters missed the software transit bus they were aiming for, hitting the bakery instead. The hospital bill was expensive, and we'd been unable to visit ever since.

"Really?" was all I said to her, though I'm sure my expression gave away what I was thinking.

"Yes," she said, smiling, "Montauk, three nights-same cabin."

"When," I said.

She smiled, "As soon as I get changed."

She started to get up, and I was practically bouncing on my bed from excitement, even if it was a virtual trip, when Smelly Gabe appeared in the doorway, "Bean dip, Sally? Didn't you hear me?"

I wanted to punch him, but I met my virtual mom's eyes and saw that I had to restrain myself to move the plot along. I growled.

"I was on my way, honey," she responded to Gabe, "We were just talking about the trip."

The walrus of a man's eyes got small, "The trip? You mean you were serious about that?"

"I knew it," I muttered grumpily, "He won't let us go."

"Of course he will," my mom said evenly, causing me to roll my eyes, "Your stepfather is just worried about money, that's all. Besides," she added, and if I didn't know her so well I would've said almost smugly, "Gabriel won't have to settle for bean dip. I'll make him enough seven layer dip for the whole weekend. Guacamole. Sour cream. The works."

He looked a little less annoyed. I guess even computer entities aren't immune to bribery, "So this money for your trip… I comes out of your clothes budget, right?"

"Yes, honey," my mom said, nicer than her deserved, in my opinion.

"And you won't take my car anywhere but there and back."

"We'll be very careful."

Smelly Gabe started to itch his double chin, "Maybe if you hurry up with that seven layer dip… And maybe if the kid apologizes for interrupting my poker game."

I considered kicking him where the sun don't shine and making him sing soprano for the next week or so, because honestly, what punishment could this game possibly dish out, but I still had that feeling that I needed to get to the beach to advance the plot.

"I'm sorry," I growled at him, "I'm really sorry I interrupted your incredibly important poker game. Please go back to it right now."

Narrowing his eyes at me, the computer program thought about what I said for a moment.

"Yeah, whatever," he finally responded, before returning to his game.

"Thank you, Percy," my mom said with a smile. She ruffled my hair before walking into the kitchen to work on the seven layer dip she'd promised Gabe.

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

The cabin we always rented was on the south shore on the very tip of long island. It's boxy shape was painted a pastel color with the windows framed in little curtains, and it was partially consumed by the dunes. Sand was everywhere with spiders hiding in the cabinets, and more often than not we couldn't swim in the water it was that cold.

I loved it.

Every year since I was a baby we used to visit there, and my mom had been going even longer. I knew that even though she never actually said so, she'd met my dad at this very beach. Well, not this one, the real world version, but this was a pretty darn good simulation of the Strand.

The computerized version of my mom seemed the same as we approached the beach, but I remember that when we used to visit together I could see all her years of worrying melt off her face as if the water was that of the Fountain of Youth. I was always mesmerized by how her eyes turned the exact color of the ocean.

It was sunset by the time we got there, and even later by the time we finished cleaning the cabin and opening the windows, but it didn't matter to us. We walked along the sandy beach giving out blue corn chips to seagulls and munching on blue jelly beans and drinking blue cokes.

You probably want to hear about the blue food.

Well, I was seven, eight years old, I don't remember exactly, and it was the first time someone at school called me retarded. Sure they said some other things like nasty booger face and stupid before, but never straight up retarded. I looked up what the word meant and was really upset all evening to the point of refusing to leave my room and eat dinner, so she made blue pancakes for dinner and coaxed me out of my room. After that, well, the idea stuck, so now we go out of our way to eat blue

.She bakes blue birthday cakes, even though I insist we could spend the money on something more useful, and when we indulge with smoothies, they're blueberry smoothies. Blue corn chips are one of our favorite snacks, and whenever she brought home free samples, they were blue, too.

When it got dark enough, we made a fire and sat down to roast hot dogs and marshmallows. We talked, discussing a lot of things from my mom's childhood, before her parents died in a plane crash when she was five and she had to go live with her uncle who didn't care about her. We discussed what she wanted to write in her books someday, and I knew my real mom had logged on. She's allowed to log on and join in any game I'm playing to keep an eye on me and make sure she approves since, at twelve years old, I'm still a minor.

I thought about what I usually asked my mom on our trips to Montauk. Whenever I asked about my father her eyes would get all misty. Every time I ask she tells me the same things, but that doesn't mean I ever tire of hearing them.

"He was kind, Percy," she'd always say, as she did this time, "Tall, handsome and powerful. But gentle, too. You have his black hair, you know, and his green eyes."

That's part of the reason my avatar looked like me. You could design your avatar to look any way you want, as long as it was within the laws of nature. Let's say you were this really plain kid, not overly fat or muscular with an average skin tone, brown hair and brown eyes. Well, your avatar could be gorgeously tanned and ripped with bleach blonde or raven black hair. The only feature you were required to keep was your eye color. People have always found it strange that I choose to be a thin, not very muscular kid with untameable black hair and skin that rarely sees the sun, but I've never wanted to change my avatar. I guess it's just the vain hope I'll see my dad in the virtual reality hub and that he'll recognize me. I know it's stupid, but I do it anyway.

My mom always says that she wished he could see me, that he'd be proud of me, but I've never understood why. Why would he be proud of a stupid, D+ report card kid like me, who just managed to get kicked out of their sixth school.

How old was I? I wonder, when he left?

She watched the flames, "He was only with me for one summer, Percy. Right here at this beach. This cabin."

I jolted a little, not realizing I'd spoken out loud.

"But… He knew me as a baby."

"No, honey. He knew I was expecting a baby, but he never saw you. He had to leave before you were born."

That angered me. I'd always assumed he at least waited until I was born, but her didn't even have the courage to stick around that long. Why would he abandon my mother like that, who was carrying me, his unborn child? I tried to harness the anger, keep it. I always wanted to be angry at him, but I can never seem to stay mad at my father. If my mom loved him, he must have been a good man.

"Look, Percy," she said, as if sensing my thoughts, "It's been a long night. Why don't we go to bed?"

"Alright," I nodded, and we started cleaning up. We worked in a companionable silence with a practiced precision, and didn't speak again until she was tucking me in at night.

"Love you, Percy," she said as she drew up the sheets, then she commented quietly as she exited the door, "I'm going to UnTangle, but you have twenty more minutes, which is about four hours, before you have to get off."

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

I had a vision that night.

I saw the beach I was on what felt like only an hour or so earlier, but the night was wild and storming. On the beach were two animals, a golden eagle and a white stallion, attempting on the edge of the surf to kill the other. Using its huge talons, the eagle swooped down and slashed ferociously at the horse's muzzle. Rearing up onto its back legs, the horse kicked at the eagle's wings. As the two creatures fought each other, the ground rumbled and shook as a cold voice from beneath the earth chuckled and urged the animals onwards.

I wanted to stop them, and I tried to run towards them. they couldn't kill each other. Unfortunately, I was running in slow motion, and I could already tell I wouldn't be able to stop them from delivering the eagle dove through the sky, aiming its beak at the horse's wide eyes. _No!_ I tried to say.

Something woke me up. It was storming outside, just like in my dream. The storm was strong enough that it could blow down houses and crack trees. The horse and the eagle weren't on the beach anymore, and the lightning was so bright it gave the illusion of daylight. Twenty foot waves were pounding the dunes.

The computerized version of my mother woke up with the next thunderclap and looked around the room with wide eyes, "Hurricane."

That was insane, as I knew for a fact that Long Island never, ever, sees hurricanes this early on in the summer. Unfortunately for me, the ocean seems to have forgotten that fact. At first I confused the sound with thunder, or maybe the wind, but after I moment I realized what I was hearing. A bellow, far off in the distance, sounding angry and tortured. My hair stood on end.

Then, I heard a much closer noise, like someone was throwing hammers in the sand. Someone was yelling desperately and pounding on the cabin door now. My 'mother' jumped out of her bed, and, still in her nightgown, shoved the lock open and answered the door.

Grover stood framed in the doorway, everything behind him pouring wet.

"Searching all night," he gasped, "What were you thinking? We agreed to meet immediately!"

My mother looked at me in terror. I could tell she was scared less of Grover, and more of the fact that he was here.

"It's right behind me!" He yelled.

The thing roared again, and my mom grabbed her purse while she threw my rain jacket at me, "Get to the car. Both of you. _Go_!"

Grover trotted to the Camaro we'd borrowed from Smelly Gabe, shaking his shaggy hindquarters. Of course my friend chose to be a satyr.

 **Okay, so I'm marking this complete because I may or may not continue this story. It's an idea that's been in my head awhile now, and I wanted to see what the feedback would be. If I get really strong feedback, this will be continued and take precedence over my other story, Senile. Be warned, though, chapters probably will be only once a week, as this has a more long term plot line and goal. Uh, yeah. I think that's it. I hope you guys enjoyed and aren't mad at me for pushing off working on Senile because I wanted to write this.**

 **-ROC6**


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